One Day
by Maid Malcolm
Summary: Mal and La'gaan, years after retiring from hero work.


La'gaan dove deeper until the light around him began to fade. He scanned the coral with an infra-red torch so as not to disturb the fish until he had to, found the angle that he wanted, and levelled his camera.

_Click!_

The flash startled the tiny, coloured fish and they began to dart about, but it no longer mattered; he had the shot. Five pictures in total. Mal would probably use at least two of them. Not bad for a quick after-work dip.

Even after so many years, walking out of the water and feeling the sand between his toes still reminded him of the first time he'd done so as Lagoon Boy. That first time that he'd stood upon the surface world by his King, knowing he'd really made it, that it wasn't all some trick about to be yanked away… and promptly doubling over and choking on the air. He could see the beachhouse from his exit point, see the sillhouette of Mal leaning heavily on his cane as he slowly dragged closed the giant windows on the second floor.

The bottom floor of the beachhouse was entirely functional; kitchen, bedroom, laundry… a normal home, but for the paintings littering every wall. Paintings of little fish, of seaweed dancing in the current, of bright coral and strange anemones… even a couple of nothing but the light playing on the sand. A couple of small ones hanging above the oven were damaged from oil splatter. It didn't matter. When they were ruined, they'd be replaced. Mal had always said they kept far too many. La'gaan disagreed.

By the time Lagaan got to the second floor, Mal was back on his little stool, eyes focused on the canvas in front of him, paintbrush balanced between artist's fingers. Even after so many years, he still held it a little like a musical instrument. On one corner of the canvas, a photo was pinned; a long, sleek eel taking shelter between two large rocks. La'gaan had taken it a week ago. Mal was carefully mapping out the eel's shape in paint.

"How was work?" Mal asked as La'gaan walked in.

"Fine. Nobody tried to drown themselves." La'gaan shrugged. "But, you know, tourist season is coming up, so it won't be long before I'm resuscitating idiots again."

"Aaah, tourist season. The best of all seasons." Mal traced out the eel's fin.

"Yeah, for you it means quadruple intake at the jazz club. For me is means triple shifts and looking out for trainee lifeguards who are more of a danger to themselves than even the tourists are. And you're going to make me read Atlantean poetry at the club again, aren't you?"

"Has there been a single year since we've moved here that I've not made you read Atlantean poetry at the club for tourists?"

La'gaan sighed. "No. You could at least make a real poet do it."

"None of the patrons speak Atlanean, 'Gaan. All we hear is your beautiful, sexy siren voice. And in an underwater themed club…"

La'gaan put his arms around Mal's shoulders. "Flattery will get you nowhere. And I'm not taking advice on what Atlantean sounds like from somebody who still can't say 'I found an interesting stone'."

"I'm not a natural linguist," Mal protested, twisting to give La'gaan a quick kiss and somehow getting paint all over La'gaan's arm in the process. "Anyway, I still got three hours before work. Fondue dinner?"

"…I'll get the little forks."

* * *

La'gaan and Mal's fondue dinners were always interesting, mostly they couldn't agree what foods were appropriate for fondue. Mal favoured the more traditional croutons or, if one was being very daring, bits of carrot or celery. La'gaan insisted that strips of tuna were the best thing to dip in melted cheese. So La'gaan carefully sliced his fish while Mal ambled about their little kitchen, right hand occupied with his cane, left hand tossing various spices and cheeses into the little pot. They ate out the front, where they could watch the movement of the ocean waves under the descending sun, sitting one each side of the fondue pot, each with their little bowl of chosen dipping food.

"Do you ever regret it?" Mal asked.

"Hmm?"

"Leaving the hero life. Coming here. Do you regret it?"

La'gaan thought for a moment on how to best phrase his answer. "I… miss it. Being out there, making a difference. Sometimes when I'm out taking pictures, I go into stakeout mode."

"Even now?"

He nodded. "When we first moved out here, for about a year, I… I'd go to activate my communicator whenever I saw something odd. And it wasn't there." He shrugged. "Not gonna lie, I still miss it. But I don't regret it. Never. Because if we'd stayed heroes, even if we weren't dead by now…" he automatically made to clench his left hand, where three fingers had healed wrong and didn't bend all the way… "we'd be missing this. And we wouldn't even know we were missing this, which is sadder. Why, do you regret it?"

"Dude, I can't walk properly."

"So? That wouldn't stop you from being a hero."

Mal laughed. "You're right, it wouldn't. I did consider going back to my old job, being Team coordinator."

"I know, Sea Star, I was there."

"Yeah, but…" he shrugged. "I wasn't… happy there any more. I think we made the right choice. For us." He bit his lip.

La'gaan sighed. They'd had this conversation far too many times over the years. "You have no reason to feel guilty," he insisted, jabbing his fondue fork for emphasis. "Neither of us do. We saved lives. We made a difference. Just 'cause we became heroes doesn't mean we don't get to live our own lives any more."

"I know, man."

La'gaan ate his last piece of tuna and put the little fork down. Everyone had heard of survivor's guilt, but sometimes he wondered if rescuer's guilt was a common thing. He wondered whether it was normal for heroes to get so used to saving people, so committed to thinking they owed the world themselves, that when they finally stopped, they felt like they were stealing their own time from the world. Every hero he'd met treated failing to save somebody as if they'd personally wronged them. As for La'gaan and Mal, their peaceful beach life was normally great, but sometimes one of them would just look at themselves and start to feel like they were failing the world by not being out there saving it. He scooted over to Mal and put his hands on his shoulders. "Hey."

"Hmm?" Mal put his own fork down. Suddenly, La'gaan's lips were on his.

"Our time is our time," La'gaan said. "Let's enjoy it."

* * *

Mal's thumb and forefinger slowly rubbed up and down the edge of La'gaan's ear. La'gaan's head was nestled in his lap. They watched the sun set. Slowly, La'gaan relaxed; his breathing became deep and even, and he started a quiet, gentle snore. Mal still wasn't entirely sure how they'd ended up where they were, but he didn't regret it. Not really.

The sun was almost gone. Time for work. Mal needed to collect his horn and amble on down to the club before nine. He always insisted on walking. Getting used to other transportation would only make his bad leg weaker.

La'gaan was asleep. Mal very gently lifted La'gaan's head and started to edge out from under him. An Atlantean hand darted up and seized his wrist in an unexpectedly strong grip. Mal glanced from the setting sun to his boyfriend, still snoring with Mal's arm in his firm grip.

"Guess I'll be late," he muttered, fingers returning to their slow, steady rubbing of La'gaan's ears.


End file.
